


Seemed Rational at 3 a.m.

by eternalsojourn



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-03
Updated: 2011-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsojourn/pseuds/eternalsojourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a slow session of pulling himself off, Arthur makes a decision in the wee hours of the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seemed Rational at 3 a.m.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a contribution to ohfreckle's Wank Fest on Livejournal.
> 
> Many thanks to unvarnishedtale for the beta read.

A car swishes through the rainy street outside Arthur’s hotel room window in Cologne, the only sound for long minutes at stupid-o’clock in the goddamned night. Arthur turns onto his back once more and growls a frustrated sigh. He knows the only way he’s going to get to sleep, but he resists doing it because he also knows where his brain will lead him.

Half an hour later, he’s still restless in the way you can only feel in the small hours with nothing to distract you. So Arthur gives in, grabs the lotion from his nightstand, shoves his hands in his boxers and begins to slowly pull himself off.

He tries to think of other things, of porn he’s liked, of past fucks. But too soon his traitorous brain supplies the image of Eames smirking with that fucking toothpick in his mouth. Of Eames leaning in to look at the map, faint hint of cologne and warmth coming off him in waves. Of Eames in that damned suit just yesterday while they wrapped up their latest job.

And with those images in his head Arthur’s cock swells further, is marble-solid in his fist as he pushes his hips up into his hand.

He doesn’t think he imagined the way Eames had ratcheted up the flirting on this last job, the way he found reasons to lean in closer, the way his mouth quirked up a little every time he said Arthur’s name. And he thinks about how, if he was to start something with anyone, it makes sense for that person to be in dreamshare, someone who understands what he does. Someone who understands him. Someone with broad muscles and strong hands that handle large weapons like they’re nothing, and someone with lips like...

Fuck it.

He picks up his phone, looks into the lens and takes a picture. When he looks at it, his sees himself, brow furrowed, face flushed, teeth sinking into his lower lip and eyelids heavy with arousal. Before he can second guess himself, he sends it to Eames.

And then he panics. Eames is in Stockholm by now, and likely asleep. Which means that message is a ticking time bomb. It’s enough to quell Arthur’s erection back down to half-mast, though sadly, not enough to get rid of it entirely. He mentally kicks himself, swears out loud.

He sighs in resignation, closes his eyes and imagines himself reclining in his office chair, Eames at his feet, that mouth sheathing his cock, those blue-grey eyes looking up.

When his phone beeps he nearly bites through his lip. It’s a text message, and when he sees it’s from Eames, his heart leaps into his throat.

New message from Proteus:  
 _arthur, wtf? plz tell me ur naked in that pic_

Arthur breathes out a sigh of relief but his heart is still pounding. This is uncharted territory and all the reasons he’s held back from Eames these past years haven’t gone away. Eames could still be just teasing. He could still be interested in just playing around, and Arthur doesn’t just play around. Fuck why did he start this? But he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and pictures those lips circling his dick again, and when he’s stiff once more, he angles the phone as best he can and captures an image of himself from just below his nose to the very tip of his red-flushed cock. He hits send and holds his breath.

He’s expecting a text back, so his whole chest clenches when his phone starts ringing instead.

Still gripping his erection tight, he answers the phone and attempts to sound composed. He fails.

“Eames,” he breathes. Fuck.

Eames groans, guttural. “Oh god, Arthur. Are you actually trying to kill me? What is this? Are you drunk?”

That loosens Arthur’s chest slightly and he laughs, a breathless chuckle that’s just shy of manic. “No, I’m not drunk. Just -- lost my mind I guess. Thinking of you.” Despite himself he begins to tug at his cock again, and a small moan escapes his lips. There’s no hope that Eames didn’t hear that.

“Oh, fuck,” Eames breathes. “You’re still touching yourself right now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says and sighs as he adjusts his grip, pulses his hips into his hand. He can feel Eames listening to every little sound. “What about you? Are you touching yourself?” Arthur asks, and begins stroking stronger and steadier.

Eames huffs a laugh, “I am now. What were you fantasizing about, Arthur? What made you send me that picture?”

“I was thinking about sliding my dick in your mouth,” Arthur pauses, lets their breaths and soft sounds of shifting bodies and rustling bedclothes drift down the line. “I think about fucking you all the time, Eames.” This earns him a needy hum from the other end of the line. “Sometimes I get hard at the office watching your mouth, the way you’re always chewing on things.”

“Arthurrrr,” Eames practically purrs. “All you ever had to do was ask. I’d have sucked you off right there in the office if I’d known you were interested.”

Arthur can hear Eames rubbing himself off in the background, can hear the way his breathing is laboured. He gets a rush of pleasure knowing he’s responsible for it. He tugs harder, wishing he could free his other hand to cradle his sac but it’s too much trouble; he can’t risk dropping the phone.

“I’m interested. I’ve always been interested,” Arthur says, because seriously, fuck it. He’s decided to do this and he doesn’t do things halfway. That’s always been his problem.

“I can’t believe you waited until after I left Cologne to tell me this,” Eames is still touching himself, though; Arthur can hear the soft creak of his bed. “Talk to me, Arthur. What do you want? What do you think about?”

“Everything. I think about doing everything with you. I want to suck you while you suck me. I need to fuck you, Eames. I want to bury myself in you, watch my dick disappear inside you.” He’s close; he’s so close he’s getting lightheaded. “Do you think about it? About me?”

It sounds like all the breath is forced from Eames’s lungs in a rush. “Oh, god, yes,” he says. “Christ, Arthur. I want you so much I can hardly stand it. Yes, you can fuck me, anything. But make no mistake, love. Once I’ve got you I’m going to want to keep you. You won’t be allowed to leave my bed for days.”

Arthur almost chokes, it’s so unexpected. He doesn’t even have time to process it, though before he’s coughing out a sob and shooting ropy hot strings of come all over himself. Immediately after the roar in his ears dies down, he hears Eames panting, hears the quiet repetitive slap in the background and in a matter of moments Eames is rasping out Arthur’s name.

In the ensuing silence, with only their breathing connecting them, Arthur tries to rearrange his thoughts into some sort of order.

“Arthur,” Eames says, softly. “Do you mean this? I mean -- this job. It’s not too late for me to cancel; they’ll have time to find someone else. I can come back to Cologne first thing. That is... if that’s why you sent those pictures?”

Arthur smiles to himself for a moment for answering. “Yeah, come back to Cologne. First flight you can manage. I’ll be here.”

There’s silence on the line for a moment and Arthur has a sense of calm that has little to do with his recent orgasm, and everything to do with knowing that he’s committed to trying something now, and it could fail, but the decision is made and Arthur doesn’t change his mind, ever.

“Okay,” Eames says, thoughtful. “Okay, I’ll make my arrangements now. I’ll be there tomorrow; you stay there.”

“Hurry up. And -- good night, Eames.”

“Good night, Arthur.”

After cleaning himself up, Arthur’s mind begins to try to assess everything that happened, to worry about what’s to come. He lets those thoughts float away, though, instead concentrating on the warmth of his bed, the looseness of his body, the memory of the comforting rumble of Eames’s voice, and he sinks into a deep and restful sleep.


End file.
